


we don't need to keep it hush

by bruce_the_shark



Series: maybe you don't have to rush [1]
Category: Band of Brothers, Band of Brothers RPF
Genre: Bad Decisions, Developing Relationship, Emotional Constipation, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Meddling Friends, One Night Stands, Toothbrushes, and by they i mean joe, it'll make you happy tho, they eventually get their shit together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 03:40:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13262874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bruce_the_shark/pseuds/bruce_the_shark
Summary: They’ve been hooking up for the better part of year when George just ups and helps himself to Joe’s toothbrush one morning.





	we don't need to keep it hush

They’ve been hooking up for the better part of year when George just ups and helps himself to Joe’s toothbrush one morning.

Joe stares wide eyed at the ceiling from his paralyzed position on his back, heart hammering in his chest as his brain works in overtime trying to make sense of it all. George mumbles to himself as he moves about, trips over something on his way back from the bathroom.

“Thanks for letting me stay last night.” He crawls up the bed, smacks a minty fresh kiss on Joe’s cheek. “See you later, right?” He attempts to crawl backwards, essentially falls off the end of the mattress.

Joe just blinks up at the ceiling. “Yeah.” He says more to himself. “Later.”

George pats twice at his foot in farewell, grabs some more of his stuff from the floor, leaves in a flurry of flailing limbs and off key humming.

“What the actual fuck.” Joe breathes out as soon as his apartment door snicks shut.

///

It happens again three days later.

“Why’s ya face stuck like that?” Babe asks with a mouthful of food. Joe frowns at him.

“He’s got a point.” Bill adds unhelpfully as he drags another fry through the mess of ketchup on his plate. “Ya constipated?”

“Fuck off.” Joe huffs, pokes at his own half eaten burger. “I just. Well. Shit.” He sighs, rubs at his eyes. “Luz used my toothbrush this morning?”

Both Babe and Bill just stare at him. “Yeah, and?” Babe eventually asks with a shrug.

“We’re not dating?” Joe tries, can’t understand how they don’t see the problem here. “Isn’t toothbrush sharing like some next level shit or something?”

Bill laughs so hard he almost falls backwards off his stool, is only saved by Babe’s hand latched onto his shoulder in an attempt to keep himself upright through his own laughter. It’s enough of a scene to have everyone in the diner looking at them in varying levels of interest, their uniforms their only saving grace.

“Yeah, yeah, assholes, laugh it up.” Joe pushes away his plate, clearly done with what was once his lunch.

“Joe, buddy, we’re not laughing at you, we’re laughing with you.” Bill explains as he wipes away a tear.

“Fuck you.” Joe grunts.

“Joe, c’mon.” Babe leans around Bill to look down the counter at him. “Forgive us for finding the mighty Joe Toye alarmed by the fact that the guy he’s been pining after for the better part of a year using his fucking toothbrush hilarious.”

“But we’re not dating.” Joe points out. Again.

“Yeah, and?” Bill repeats with snark, gestures at Joe with a fry. “I know you’re gun shy about commitment but this is just ridiculous, even for you.”

“It’s a toothbrush, Joe.” Babe pipes back in. “It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Joe begrudgingly listens to them, forces himself to accept the incident as the fluke it was.

Babe’s right: it’s just a toothbrush, not a fucking marriage proposal.

///

A week later Joe watches with a grin as George forces himself out of bed, mumbles to himself as he sorts through their clothes on the floor. Joe doesn’t say anything when it’s his own shirt that George slips on over his head, decides he’s willing to sacrifice his Led Zeppelin tee for the greater good.

What greater good he’s not sure, but George’s always looked better in it.

“Thanks for letting me stay.” George leans back across the bed, eyes still crusted from sleep as he pecks in the general area of Joe’s cheek. It lands on his ear.

Joe tries to keep his grin from growing. “You’re welcome.” He rumbles quietly, voice thick from sleep. “We still on for tonight?”

“Hell yeah we are.” George trips away from the bed, catches himself on the corner of Joe’s dresser. “We’re not losing another ping pong tourney to Grant and Speirs, Joe, I refuse. I can’t handle the shame.”

Joe snorts, burrows back down into his sheets as George forces his feet into his shoes. “Just untie them.” He points out.

George sticks his tongue out at him. “Everyone needs a hobby, Joe.” He intones sagely, grabs his coat from the foot of the bed. “See you at seven?”

Joe nods, rolls his eyes at the little kiss George blows to him from across the room before trapezing out the door.

And all without using his toothbrush.

///

Joe accepts the few uses of his toothbrush as the hiccups they were in his and George’s little arrangement until a week later when George not only walks around Joe’s apartment brushing his teeth with it, but also makes Joe a pot of coffee before he leaves.

His expression must still be one of abject horror when he rolls into work because Bill and Babe laugh for a solid twenty minutes straight.

Joe hates them both.

///

They finally slaughter the dynamic duo of Grant and Speirs in the ping pong tournament at their favorite bar once Joe gets George drunk enough to forget he’s scared shitless of Ron.

George keeps using his toothbrush.

Joe begins to question his very existence.

///

“You sure about this?” Frank asks skeptically as he slides another beer across the bar. “I mean…”

“What?” Joe grunts, glances over his shoulder.

“I don’t know, I just…”

“Frank.” Joe bites out. “ _What_.”

“All I’m saying is that I thought you and Luz were…you know… _a thing_.”

Joe just stares at him. “The fuck does that mean?”

Frank stares right back. “It means I thought you were dating?”

Joe can see the logic in it, really, he can. He just chooses to ignore it. “We’re not a thing.” He snaps, checks once more over his shoulder with a quick look. “We hook up, we have a good time. That’s it.”

Frank throws up both hands in surrender. “Fine, geeze, I get it.” He swipes up Joe’s money. “Should probably tell him that.” He mumbles as he steps away, too quick for Joe to stop him. He’s about to follow him down the bar, gets distracted by a hand tickling it’s way up his arm.

“Hey, there.” Tall, blonde, and ripped smiles at him. “I know you from somewhere?”

Joe’s not quite sure of the expression he makes, knows it’s a cross between _seriously?_ and _oh, for fuck’s sake_ , but he can’t really work himself up into too much a tizzy.

This was his own brilliant master plan, after all.

He lets himself be chatted up, pointedly ignores the glare Frank levels him with when it comes time to settle his tab. He can feel it boring into his back all the way out the door despite the mass of muscle trailing excitedly behind him, fingers pulling at his belt loops.

He’s not proud, per se, but it’s a close thing when they round the corner to his street and it’s all starting to look very promising if the hands on his hips and the lips against the back of his neck are anything to go by.

Any beginnings of a boner die, however, when they reach the front stoop of his building and George’s staring at him wide eyed from the top step. “Um.” He squeaks, doesn’t seem to know where to look: the hands roaming up and down Joe’s chest, the bobbing head of blonde hair over his shoulder, Joe’s own wide eyed expression.

“Babe?” Joe’s partner perks his head up. “Something wrong?”

“Um.” George squeaks again.

“Um.” Joe breathes out heavily.

“Oh, shit, sorry, dude.” Blondie grins when he finally spots George. “You waiting for someone to let you in?”

George nods dumbly, finally snaps his mouth shut to keep from uttering another _um_. “Yeah.” He gets to his feet, brushes himself off for no reason. “Yes. Forgot my keys.”

Blondie just grins, completely oblivious to the metaphorical birthing of the giant elephant happening right in front of him. Joe kind of wants to die right there where he stands.

“Well, Joe.” George finally breaks the tension between them. “Wanna make like Mr. Rogers and be a good neighbor for me?”

It gets a laugh out of Blondie, but Joe just swallows as he starts up the steps, tries his best to meet George’s eyes. Can’t.

He fumbles his keys out of his pocket, manages not to drop them as he unlocks the door and holds it open, motions for George to go first, shuffles in behind him with his Friday night fling hot on his heels.

“You two have fun in the elevator.” George attempts to wink as he makes a show of starting up the stairs as though he actually lives in the building. Joe’s never seen him look so awkward.

Blondie just chuckles as Joe pushes violently at the UP button for the elevator, has never felt more uncomfortable in his life as lips reattach themselves to the back of his neck.

He lets himself be shuffled forward, turns at just the last second to see George waving meekly with a pinched off expression as the doors rattle shut between them.

///

“You done fucked up good on this one, boy.” Bull rattles off a month later.

Johnny snorts from across the room. “That’s an understatement.”

“I’d expect this kind of stunt from Liebgott and Webster, but you?” Bull continues with a disappointed shake of his head. “Damn, son.”

“Listen, I know, okay.” Joe bites out, slumps even further in the ass numbingly hard chair Bull keeps in front of his desk for guests. “I just want to talk to him, he’s not answering me. On anything.”

“I look like a messenger boy to you?” Bull pins him with a look.

Joe stares flatly back. “That was more impressive when I actually worked for you.”

Bull huffs out a breath of a laugh, cocks his head to look at Johnny over Joe’s shoulder. “Should we put him out of his misery?”

Johnny makes some kind of grunting noise. “Put ‘em both.” He mutters.

Bull rolls his eyes as he leans back in his more comfortable looking rolly chair. “Go see Lip. He’ll coddle you from there.”

“Seriously?” Joe quirks a brow. “What is this, a fucking quest or something?”

“Bet your ass it is.” Bull points at his office door with his cigar. “Now get. We’re too old for this after school special bullshit.”

///

“Please?”

“No.”

“The fuck, Lip, I said please didn’t I?”

Lip sighs, drops the essay he's grading back down onto his desk. “He doesn’t want to see you, Joe. Just leave it.”

“No, I’m not gonna _just leave it_ ,” Joe snaps, “I’m just trying to apologize.”

“For what?” Lip looks over the top of his glasses at him. Joe feels suitably pinned in place. “I thought so.” He smirks.

Joe honestly didn’t know the man had it in him to be this mean. “I fucked up, okay?” He relents. “I’m fully aware, but I’m trying to fix it so that should count for something, right?”

Lip sighs, rubs at his temples. “Were you even dating?” He asks.

Joe just blinks at him. “The fuck does that mean?”

“Luz told me you were.” Lip blinks back at him.

“Since fucking when?” Joe bursts out, feels faintly hysterical for some reason.

“I don’t know, he said you asked him out and he said yes and that you're dating.” Lip rears back in his chair. “ _Were_ dating?” He makes a face.

“Since fucking when?” Joe repeats. “I never asked him that?”

“Apparently you did?” Lip gestures helplessly. “You texted him?”

“Fucking _when_?” Joe throws his hands up. “I think I’d remember willingly subjecting myself to monogamy?”

Lip has the audacity to snort at that. “It suits you so well.”

Yeah, okay, Joe will accept that for the dick punch it is. “Jesus christ.” He sighs, wipes at his face with one hand as he pulls out his phone with his other. “There’s no way this actually happened.” He reassures himself as he thumbs open his texts, pulls up his thread with George...notices odd times when it seems like George’s replying to something Joe’s never actually said.

The next half hour has him spiraling down into a pit of despair that leaves him in a cold sweat with a taste of disaster on his tongue. He’s not sure this is something fixable.

“I’m going to kill them.” He looks up at Lip as he scrolls uselessly, shakes his head. “I swear to god I’m going to _fucking kill them_.”

Lip just shakes his own head, marks up another paragraph in a rather pathetic essay in red. “I’m getting too old for this shit.” He sighs.

///

Babe’s out grocery shopping when Joe finally spots him. He figures word must have gotten out about his discovery of their fuckery with his phone since the ginger’s been a rarer creature than even sasquatch.

They work together for fuck’s sake.

Joe’s never been one for making a scene in public, but for Babe he’s willing to make an exception.

“You asshole!” Joe beams an onion at the unsuspecting man across the produce section. Babe makes a god awful squawking noise as he drops his shopping basket and trips into a bin of apples.

“ _What the–_ ”

“What have I told you about fucking with my shit, Babe?” Joe demands, hurls two potatoes in rapid-fire succession. “I ought to just–”

“Hey!” Gene suddenly comes storming towards them with a basket of his own and a glare that’d melt a lesser man down to mere molecules. “The hell is going on here?” He stops between them, eyes the orange in Joe’s hand.

“This fucker’s been hiding from me for the better part of a week,” Joe hurls his fruit, rolls his eyes at the squeal Babe gives as he tries to dodge it, “when all I want are some goddamn answers.”

“That’s enough, Toye.” Gene slaps at his hand when Joe tries to go for a tomato. “You’re acting like a two year old.”

“I’m not the only one.” Joe snaps back.

Gene takes a deep breath, seems to collect himself before turning to his boyfriend. “What did you do?” He demands.

“Dude, Gene, where’s the trust?” Babe steps around a mess of lettuce on the floor. “Where’s the love?”

“Edward James Heffron you tell me what you did _right now_.” Gene commands with one hand on his hip and a single black brow arched high. Babe at least has the decency to look ashamed of himself.

“Me and Bill may have taken Joe’s phone…”

Gene snaps up a hand to stop Joe from opening his mouth. “And?”

“And, uh.” Babe looks anywhere but his boyfriend. “Pretended to be Joe while we texted with Luz?”

“Are you asking or telling?”

“Jesus, Gene, I’m sorry, okay?” Babe gestures wildly, face flushed pink.

“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to, Babe.” Gene pointedly waves a hand at Joe. “What did the texts say?”

“Yeah, buddy, what’d they say?” Joe chimes in with a glare. “I’d know if someone _didn’t_ _delete them from the thread_.”

“Edward James Heffron.” Gene sighs, rubs at his face. “Why is it that every day I feel more and more like your mother?”

“Dammit, guys, I’m sorry, okay? I know it was wrong, Joe, I do. Bill talked me into it because he’s shit at technology because he’s old.”

“What’d the fucking texts say, Babe?” Joe cuts off the tizzy he can see Babe working himself into. “Just tell me so I can go and try to fix all this.”

The other man sucks in a long breath, steels himself, then opens his mouth:

“Luz apologized for using your toothbrush that first time so we said it was cool, that you liked it, that you didn’t mind. He said it was because he’s the middle of nine kids so he’s used to just sharing everything, right, so we interpreted that as him wanting to date you so we asked him out and he said yes and then we asked him to keep it on the down low because you’re emotionally constipated and scared of commitment and he said sure, no prob, you all can go slow.”

Joe blinks once, twice. Exchanges a look with Gene.

“Then we heard about you bringing home that Ken doll so we deleted all the specifics and not your whole thread because then it’d look obvious someone was messing with your phone, right?”

Gene quietly mumbles something in french as he looks down into his basket. “You know what.” He says to himself. “I forgot the peanut butter.” He walks away without a single glance back.

Joe will never forget the look of blatant betrayal on Babe’s face as he rugby tackled him to the floor. Nor will he ever forget the high pitched screeching sound Babe made when being beaten with a bundle of celery.

When it’s all said and done with they both end up outside on a bench sporting bloody noses: Babe’s from a well placed cucumber to the face, Joe’s from Babe’s lanky flailing. Gene finds them seventeen minutes after the fact, a bag of groceries in each hand as he looks down at them.

“Who’s banned for life?” He questions tiredly. Both Babe and Joe slowly raise their free hand. Gene just shakes his head. “ _Je suis trop vieux pour cette merde_.” He sighs.

///

Joe jumps Bill as he’s coming out of a coffee shop with Buck.

Bill accepts his beating like any true man born and raised in South Philly.

Buck streams it live on Facebook.

All their friends like it in less than a minute, have bets placed in under three.

They all go out for beers afterwards.

///

Once Joe’s essentially gone full Kill Bill on the two assholes he still calls friends, Floyd Talbert mysteriously appears at his front door. “Hey, man.” He greets with a pop of his gum.

Joe leans out into the hall, surveys it left and right with pinched brows. “Hey?” He tries, isn’t really sure how he got in.

Tab just smiles at him. “Luz’ll be at the 506 about eight tonight if you want to see him.”

Joe slowly scratches at his forehead. “You the last one?” He blurts out before he can stop himself.

Tab’s face scrunches up adorably. “Last what?”

“Hell if I know,” Joe shrugs, “like the gatekeeper or something? Neither Bull or Lip would cough up where I could find him.”

“Oh, that.” Tab shrugs, pops his gum again. “I guess since I’m his roomie that trumps anyone else?”

Joe stares at him. Wonders how this became his life. “Sorry, but how the fuck did you get dragged into this?”

Another lazy shrug. “Chuck told me?”

“Because…”

“George skipped the last ping pong tournament to mope at home so Ron couldn’t demand a rematch.”

“Which led to…”

“Chuck telling me to find you to let you know where George is so you can fix this. Ron’s practically foaming at the mouth to get his title back, apparently he takes this shit really seriously.”

Joe blinks. “Right. Okay.” Blinks again. “What the fuck.”

“Hey, man, I’m just the messenger, I did my job.” Tab throws his hands up in a lazy parody of a surrender.

Joe waves him off. “No, yeah, thanks. I appreciate it.”

“There’s one more thing.” Tab tacks on before Joe can close his door.

“Yeah?”

“You fuck this up even more your next visit’s from Ron.”

“How the hell is that fair?” Joe snaps, wide eyed. “And so help me god if you shrug again.”

Tab twitches in response instead. “Seriously, I’m just the messenger, but if I have to guess it’s because you fucked with the honey badger.”

“And what does that mean?” Joe’s been done with this conversation since the moment it began.

“I don’t know?” Tab pops his gum. “Chuck’s my bestie, Luz is my roomie, I think by some weird extension Ron’s adopted us into his circle of trust because of Chuck and he’s like…dude. Just don’t fuck with the honey badger, alright?”

Joe takes a deep, centering breath as he steps back inside the relative safety of his apartment before any kind of fuckery can seep in and contaminate it. “Duly noted.” He sighs. “Now get the fuck away from me.”

///

Joe’s quest for redemption does penultimately lead him to the 506 where George Luz is indeed sitting at the bar at 8:08 on a slow Thursday night.

It’s probably presumptuous of him, but Joe’s got on his best cologne and his favorite _fuck me_ boxers in an attempt to reassure himself that he can fix this. And if he can’t, well, at least he smells good and can look at himself half naked at home.

Frank’s glaring at him before he even steps up to the bar. Joe just glares back, spine steeled in determination.

George looks just as messily perfect and perfectly messy as always, hair fluffed up in tuffs, tee wrinkled in well worn comfort, skinny jeans practically painted on. Joe can’t believe he’s spent the past year talking himself out of wanting something more with this potpourri of a person who just seems to so inherently get him.

Joe settles onto the empty bar stool next to him.

“Luz.” He greets, voice light in an attempt to be civil. Frank just rolls his eyes as he moves down the bar.

George merely hums in response. “Joe Toye.” He exhales with a puff of smoke, flicks some dead ash off the end of his cigarette. “To what do I owe this honor.”

Joe opens his mouth, closes it. Opens it again. Snaps it shut. Deflates a little. “Fuck it.” He says more to himself. Then, to George, “I’m sorry, okay? I’m so fucking sorry.”

“For what?” George glances at him with a shrug, takes another drag of his smoke. “It’s not like we were dating or anything.” He looks at his beer, traces a finger around the rim. “I mean, I thought we were because you had asked, but the joke was on me, I guess, since I actually believed that flaming heap of dog shit.”

“George.” Joe tries softly, gets cut off.

“I knew it was too good to be true, right?” George shakes his head, laughs quietly to himself, a sad little sound. “I knew it was kinda weird to have something I’ve wanted for, like, the past three years to just finally fall into my lap. I mean, shit like that just doesn’t happen, you know?”

Joe stares blankly down at the bar top as he processes all this.

“I mean, every time I managed to work up the balls to ask you out I just, I don’t know, fizzled out.” George rambles on. “It was like you could sense it was coming and your face would do this god awful scrunching thing like you’d just simultaneously shit yourself while stepping on a Lego and I’d just…” George trails off. “Is the thought of dating me really that bad?”

“Um.” Joe manages to utter out weakly. “That.” He stops, licks his lips. “That was a lot right there, just now.” He shakes his head, looks up at George. “And no.” He admits quietly. “The thought of dating you is probably the best one I’ve ever had.”

“Sure about that?” George peers at him, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Joe can’t help but crack a grin. “Luz.” He states, shifts on his stool to better face him. “You know all the words to Smash Mouth’s _All Star_. You can make thirty seven different kinds of casserole, twelve of which involve Spam. You own more band tees than any single person should and I kind of want you to wear all of mine just so I can look at you in them.”

It’s not just the ambient lighting of the bar that has George’s cheeks tinted rose, Joe can tell. “I’ve wanted to ask you out for the past year, George.” Joe continues quietly. “Hell, maybe even longer. But look at me.” He gestures to himself. “I fuck up. All the time.”

George snorts as he stubs out his cigarette. “Joe, please, fucking up is one thing, self sabotage is another.” He looks at Joe. “I got an interesting visit from Bill and Babe a few days ago.”

Joe groans, swivels back to the bar just to face plant on it. “What’d those assholes want?” 

“Gene basically frog marched them right into my living room and made them tell me the whole story. Everything.”

“Jesus christ.”

“Oh, his holy spirit was there, alright, let me tell you.” George sounds almost gleeful. “Gene Roe can put the fear of god into satan himself.” He laughs. “Fuck, Joe, it was _beautiful_.”

Joe can’t help but smile. “I’m sure it was.” He says into beer tacky wood as George quiets down beside him.

“Hey.” He’s poked in the side. “Joe, hey, look at me.” George keeps at it until Joe finally peels himself up off the bar, forehead red and sore.

“I get it, okay?” George smiles faintly. “What you did was a total dick move and I wish you would have just talked to me about the toothbrush thing, but I get it.”

“Is this it then?” Joe tries to smile back, manages more of a grimace. “The end of the road?”

George just watches him with a considering expression. “Depends on you.” He eventually shrugs, turns back to his beer.

Joe watches the line of his throat as he swallows, digs blindly in his pocket. “You know.” He muses as his palms start to sweat. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He tries to joke, fails miserably as he lays out his peace offering on the bar between them.

“Joe…” George says softly, looks at him with honest to god hope in his eyes.

Joe’s never been so fucking terrified of something he’s wanted so much.

“It’s a toothbrush, not a marriage proposal.” He starts as he pokes at the plastic packaging. “I know we should probably just start all over with everything, but I just wanted to let you know where I want to end up.” He confesses quietly into the space between them. “Preferably with you.”

George snorts, reaches out to poke at the offered dental utensil too. “Hell of an idea, Joe.” He shakes his head with a gentle grin.

“So is that a yes?” Joe hazards a guess.

George leans over to kiss him, smiles against his lips. “It's a 'we’ll see how it goes'.” He promises.

**Author's Note:**

> Technically part 5 of the toothbrush/"maybe you don't have to rush" verse originally posted on my tumblr (r-catsby.tumblr.com/tagged/my-writing); slowly trying to migrate all parts onto here!


End file.
